The Last Stop  Mirror Gate
by emilestiny
Summary: The blue boys in their first mystery. What's going on at Mirror Gate?


Blue Boys sit side-by-side like a pair of sea-salt popsicles. Light filtering in flicks and long pauses- the Morris Code of train travel- a boy sags. He catches himself. Sags again.

"Don't lean on me." Deadpanned from the other popsicle.

"I- no... um." He is awake now- but one eye doesn't open. Sewn shut, it is rather gruesome. How such a pair ever made it onto the train is something to be marveled at.

Yawning the one eyed boy turned to his other blue companion, a hand reaching up to rub at the trace of wetness that accumulated at his eye. Yes, however did they make it onto this train unquestioned, unnoticed?

His skin was a pale blue, almost akin to a translucent sky. His eye, as he only had one, was a rich golden color, and his hair an unnatural white with gentle streaks of blue and purple. His rounded, pale blue cheeks were tinged with a bit of pink, the only sign suggesting warmth in such an icy complexion. What he wore was even more strange-a black hooded cloak, a pair of loose white trousers and what appeared to be black loafers on his feet. Black-tinged lips perked up at the corners briefly.

The other boy's skin was an inky blue, wild hair a sunflower's yellow. He wore a minty green silk blazer and a flamboyant ruff at his neck, held by a yellow pin to match his hair. Equally extravagant black boots fashioned with pink silk bows, black knee-high stockings and black knee-shorts all served to make him look rather ridiculous. With his warm, delicate baby-face and bow lips the little boy may have been rather pleasing to look at had the alarming shade of his skin and hair been closer to humanity. The one eyed boy soon noticed he was was also wearing a rather disapproving look.

"You should look out the window." Dispassionate stare. A slight narrowing of yellow-lashed eyes and a slow, deliberate cock of his head to the glass to their right.

There was hardly a time when the eyeless boy did not take heed to the other's suggestions. That was how he was on this train to begin with. Staring briefly at the other boy, he soon turned his gaze toward the window, eye widening immediately, "Wha.. what is that..?"

Outside, past the electric poles and the messy scaffolding holding up other train tracks the evening sky was painted a brilliant red-pink and each puff of cloud looked like a dollop of peach whipped creme. A spectacular sky- it's vastness far outweighed the brown and grey city- that mouth full of telephone poles like braces. "Isn't it nice?" The dispassionate boy looks at his hands, lets the world be beautiful behind him.

It was childish of him, but the other blue boy found himself pressing his hand against the glass. If it didn't mean he'd had to maneuver around his companion, he probably would have pressed his nose to the window. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. During the wars, the sky was like misted charcoal. A suffocating, terrific sight. At that time, he never did care to indulge in such things. But now, he felt like someone reborn. "It's wondrous," he commented in awe, no conflict in demeanor or words to be seen.

"In my home, Azulle, where I was born and where I died, the sky was like this every night. Someday we'll go there. It will be interesting." He uses his fingernail to scratch the plastic of his seat. Five horizontal lines. A staff empty of notes.

Azulle's hand fell away from the window, leaving a slowly retreating heat print in its wake. Never to be in the same place twice. "Hey, Chocolate." Suddenly, he was smiling at the boy, "How many faces does the sky have?" Whether it was a riddle or just a passing thought, it was hard to tell with the light blue boy. He often said things that fell on deaf ears. Dismissing his own comment, he squinted at what his friend was scratching into the seat. "What does it mean?" He couldn't read music. Azulle couldn't read at all.

"What constitutes a face? I'm confused." Chocolate doesn't look up. "Sometimes you're such an uneducated poo face." Here, Chocolate cracks a smile and flops over onto his side, melodramatically laying across the seats.

Looking down a moment, the eyeless boy pursed his lips in the hint of a pout, "You know... I just don't know if I'm ever looking at the same sky as I saw the other day..." He muttered hurriedly, attempting to get off the subject of his own comment. Azulle nudged Chocolate then, poking the staff he'd drawn, "You gunna tell me?"

"Well, the solar system is hurtling at millions of kilometers per hour through space- so you definitely aren't seeing the same sky." Chocolate covers his face with his arm. "And it's a staff for writing music. It's the frame we need to set up before we can put things in." A deep yawn.

Of course, leave it to Chocolate to give him a straight forward, literal answer. Azulle didn't mind it, though it made him wonder if he was the only one thinking so... non-analytically all the time. He didn't have many friends to compare himself to. Death gods don't have many acquaintances. Staring at the staff more intently, he tilted his head and giggled softly, "Well, aren't you gunna fill it up?"

"No." Again, deadpan. Chocolate fiddles the lace of his sleeve. When light catches his cheek, Azulle can see that strange face- the one that lies between anger, melancholy and antipathy. It is a strange face. "Why don't you fill it if you care so much?" Said quietly, Chocolate turns his face to the side. Now here is a distinct pout.

He grew quiet for a moment, revisiting that odd expression in his mind. How far was he willing to go to figure out just what caused such an emotion? That one golden eye lowered toward the etching, fingers pressing against it briefly. He couldn't fill it out even if he wanted to. Summoning a yawn, Azulle rested his arms over his chest and slouched a bit into the seat, "I'll sleep on it."

"Sometimes the best music comes to us in dreams."

Light fading and turning the inside of the train pink, the boys drift into sleep. Chocolate writhes, sits up, mumbles, then falls back to sleeping- his face now firmly buried in Azulle's knee.

Having already had ample rest, Azulle stayed awake until the pink sky turned purple. With Chocolate's head on his knee, he was able to tilt sideways and rest his head against the window. The trip they were taking seemed timeless to him now. When it began the sky was a clear blue, which slowly melted into that candied pink and now it was a rich purple. Having slipped in and out of sleep, the boy idly toyed with the idea that they had been traveling for more than just a day.

A cool blue hand rested on Chocolate's blond locks, stroking soothingly through them in an attempt to calm the boy's troubled movements. Unconsciously, Azulle found himself humming a song unknown to him. Maybe Chocolate had been right.


End file.
